


The lights are a little too bright

by Sunflour28



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Chronic Illness, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Louis is just dizzy, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Sickfic, harry is fine, its a little sad? maybe?, its not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunflour28/pseuds/Sunflour28
Summary: Louis' a little done with his situation. He's seen the same hospital room far too many times in his life. Maybe things will start looking up though- now that Harry's in the same waiting room as him.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	The lights are a little too bright

**Author's Note:**

> This is really self indulgent. Louis' has my exact illness and I wrote this after coming back from an extremely frustrating doctors appointment today. 
> 
> It's my first piece of work so be gentle but also I would like constructive criticism :)
> 
> I hope that maybe people who have a similar illness or anyone who relates feels a little bit heard by this. I know I always like to feel validated through peoples fanfics. 
> 
> Hope you all have a great day- I might make this a series. 
> 
> My tumblr is @sunflour28 as is my insta :)

The lights are a little too bright, the nurse’s shoes walking down the corridor are a little too squeaky, the curly haired man next to him is sat a little too close and Louis is too exhausted to deal with any of this. He is this close to snapping. 

He feels awful. Just awful. 

He’s at the hospital every day. If it’s not for physical therapy it’s for a check-up, if it’s not for a check-up it’s for a diagnostic assessment, if it’s not for an assessment it’s to get blood drawn, if it’s not for blood tests it’s for MRI’s and CAT scans. 

The number of doctors he’s seen would make a never-ending list- everyone here knows him by name. (they know him by his footsteps to be completely honest) 

Today he feels at a loss though. He’s been here every day since July and it’s the beginning of September. The mask he’s wearing feels like a permanent part of his features now and the rest of his therapy machines feel like extra sets of limbs. 

He’s improving. Or so he’s been told. The tests indicate he is improving but Louis just wants to scoff at that. He feels sick as a dog most days. Dizzy, disorientated and like he’s constantly sailing the high seas in the most terrible of storms is how he feels. 

It started in 2014. A long-haul flight and white-knuckling turbulence.  
After a safe, albeit terrifying, landing he couldn’t get his bearings right. Then came the nausea. Then the vertigo. Then the motion sickness, the dizziness, the headaches, the exhaustion. 

He had had to adapt.

He had had to learn how to read without using his eyes, he had had to learn to work on the computer without reading the screen, he had had to work out how to attend a university course without being able to take notes, he had had to figure out how to listen to music and watch films without throwing up. 

It was a lot to go through and to go through it alone was everything short of perfect. 

Sure, his mum was lovely and tried really hard to be supportive of his new needs but the change to Louis’ lifestyle had come quickly- without warning- and no one was prepared to have to give so much up. Probably without realising it, his mum made Louis feel like he was stretching her past her limits. She needed to help him get to appointments. She had to sort out the rooms in their small house again when he moved back in after Uni- unable to get a job. She had to juggle his needs with the needs of their huge family and making sure his siblings didn’t feel short changed.

Although Louis always felt his sisters didn’t have the right to feel short changed in this. After all it was his life that was a pile of shit these days and not theirs. But he didn’t want to feel that selfish about everything. 

His dad was a different story entirely. He was not about to throw Louis a pity party any time soon (nor did Louis ever express his wishes for one) instead he gave him even harder standards to live by- expecting the absolute impossible out of Louis daily and making him feel like a failure when he inevitably fell short of every single one. It was a constant battle between them. His dad saw him as lazy and broken and Louis just wanted to be cut some slack. 

As for friends- well that was hard. The novelty of being the kid who’s different wears off really quickly when you can’t do anything ‘fun’ and that’s when people tend to leave you out for good. He just wanted one or two friends to come over and listen to music with or draw something together- he was really good at sketching- it turned out it was one of the few things he could do without feeling sick. But everyone in his hometown wanted to get drunk and drive around all night. (nothing Louis’ system could handle) And no one wanted to compromise or accommodate. His dad made him feel like enough of a burden, so he went about most of his days alone and clinging to any online community he could- even if he was always out on the outer edge of them. 

Although he found a small sense of purpose and joy from the internet he never really loved it either. Chronic illness was often glorified online, in books, on tv shows- and he hated that. The stories of Prince Charming showing up to make it all better and accept any and all limitations that his damsel in distress had made him sick. Louis had long lost hope in finding his Prince Charming. No one ever stuck around for the ugly side of chronic illness- they should write more books about that. No prince or knight in shining armour was going to come for him. This wasn’t a fairy tale it was hell. And no one gets saved from hell- they are damned to it. 

So, he’s sat here in the waiting room exhausted. And he’s nauseated. And he’s really fucking close to crying if something doesn’t let off soon. And he means really soon. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He doesn’t think it will help but it always might. 

“Um,” the boy next to him clears his throat, “have you been waiting for a while?” 

Louis opens his eyes tentatively- he’s not even sure the boy’s talking to him and he feels a little self-obsessed assuming he is. He forgets himself when he’s met with emerald eyes and eyelashes that match the softness of his voice. And oh, he is talking to Louis and Louis should probably talk back. 

“Uh- just got done with an eye check-up. I’ve got physio in...” his voice is straining as he checks over his watch, “5/10 minutes. You?” 

“My friend ‘s just had knee surgery. I’m here to visit him when he wakes up.” He vaguely points in the direction of the lifts. Louis doesn’t have a clue where that leads but he looks into the distance as if he knows. 

“Nice.” He could really kick himself for the boring response, but it doesn’t seem to faze the other boy who, although quiet in tone, is proving rather chatty.

“I was here yesterday already- to bring him, I mean. Shame you weren’t though.”

Louis laughs at that and the other boy is a little flustered and out of breath for whatever reason. He’s not laughing in a mean-spirited way though. Not like he usually would for such assumptions when he’s already feeling tested on long hospital days. He’s laughing because it’s genuinely funny to him this time around. 

“Oh, I was.” He simmers back down into his chair. “I’m here every day.” He throws in a peace sign and then mentally cringes at how lame he’s become. Too many lonely evenings spent on Tumblr and Stan twitter is what he’ll blame for that.

“Oh?” Is all he gets in reply. Then it dawns in him: he doesn’t even know this boy’s name.

“Tell me your name and I’ll tell you why.” He’s being cheeky, and he loves it. He feels a little bit like his old self again. The curly haired boy rolls his eyes and laughs a breathless laugh. Louis’ mind is already trying to suss out what his name could be. Thomas, Benjamin, Arnold, Edward- 

“Harry. And you are?” His eyes are big – filled with excitement. Louis has to use all of his mental strength not to laugh at the fact that he genuinely thought he could be an Arnold. 

“Louis.” He holds up his fist for a fist bump. He’s not sure what the corona standings are on fist bumps. Handshakes, hugs and the like seem out of the question and honestly, he doesn’t care about being any more awkward in this interaction, so fist bump it is. 

“You owe me a story.” Harry states as their fists collide- much gentler than Louis anticipated. Harry’s wide grin is only recognizable by the way his eyes crinkle upwards at their edges and Louis’ stomach swoops at it. He’s desperately trying (and failing) to play it cool right now.

“I don’t owe you shit.” And maybe it comes off as more aggressive than he had hoped for because Harry seems to shrink a little beside him. 

“But I’ll tell you, so here it is...” and he’s told this story hundreds of times over. It’s like when he’s reading his siblings their favourite bedtime story. He already knows when Harry will gasp and when he’ll be really quiet. He already knows when he’ll have questions and what those questions will be. And once those are out of the way he already knows he’ll get advice on what herbs to try and which stones to wear - like everyone else has done. But he’s used to it. He knows people are trying to help- even if they end up doing more harm than good. 

It’s not that Louis doesn’t like people showing they care by giving him tips- it’s just that telling someone who is chronically dizzy that chewing a peppermint leaf will cure them is really fucking invalidating. As if he could’ve fixed all this crap years ago with such a simple trick and was now just choosing to stay ill for the laughs. He knew their intent was good he just wished they wouldn’t start. With every home remedy he was given he felt more like no one understood what he was going through. Like he was completely alone in it all and no one was listening to him screaming about how unwell he was. 

So, he’s holding his breath waiting for Harry to get to his crystal spiel and then swear by ginger tea for when his stomach is unsettled.

But the moment never comes.

“So,” Harry says, thinking, “you’re just always dizzy? And always sick? And you still don’t know why?” He looks dumbfounded. 

“Yup- that’s the abridged version.” Louis runs his hand along the seam of his jeans so as to reroute his nervous energy. He doesn’t really know what to do- No one has ever gone ‘off script’ before.

“I’m really sorry. That must suck.” And Harry really does look sorry- even exasperated but he doesn’t offer anything more than a shared sense of frustration. 

And for once Louis feels really heard- like in this moment he’s allowed to feel defeat within his body; allowed to feel cursed and unjustly served by the universe. 

He pushes his head back against the wall behind them and looks up at the ceiling. He breathes out a sigh and lets his emotions swallow him whole. He feels like it’s the first time he’s been allowed to wallow and mourn for himself – the complete and utter loss of who he once was and will never get to be. He doesn’t have to keep pretending everything is alright. Because everything is not alright. It is quite literally the opposite. And he has had no one else to scream it to. Everyone else would have told him he’s not trying hard enough. Everyone else has told him he’s not trying hard enough. But he’s trying so very hard and nothing is letting off. 

Harry is quiet beside him. Just letting him be. This odd blend of frustrated peace that’s swimming between them is drained once again when the doctor calls Louis’ name. 

Just as he’s getting up to leave he feels a strong, comforting grasp around his wrist, holding him there- like an anchor to Louis’ swaying reality. 

“You’ll be here tomorrow, right?” Harry presses. 

“Yeah- and every day after that.” Louis jokes. 

“I’ll bring you tea- for when you wait.” And it leaves the same warmth in louis as his handprint did on his wrist – both making his heartbeat that much more present.

“See you at 3, then.” He’s trying (not for the first or second time in the last 10 minutes, either) to reel his mind back into what he’s meant to be doing- walking into a doctor’s office. For once he’s thankful he can pass his disorientation and clumsy gait off as part of his illness and not the fuzzy feeling that’s building in his stomach because of a cute stranger with glistening eyes and thick eyebrows. 

“Oh, and Harry!” He says before turning into the office, startling the other boy into looking into his direction. 

“Yeah?” He answers - all too eagerly.

“No sugar, please.” And maybe he winks and maybe it’s already all too sickeningly sweet. 

Everything about this is. 

But Louis doesn’t care. He’s just happy he’s no longer dreading coming back tomorrow.


End file.
